


To The Leader, The Pariah

by icewhisper



Series: Leonard Snart Shorts [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Mob Boss/Thief AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/pseuds/icewhisper
Summary: The Rorys moved from farmers to Family generations before either of them were born and took Keystone as their territory, passing down leadership until Mick was the one in charge. As a rule, Leonard avoided the Families, preferring to keep his hands clean of them, but rules went flying out the window when rumors started circulating that the Rorys had gotten their hand on lost Renaissance art. Every thief had their weak spots.





	To The Leader, The Pariah

**Author's Note:**

> Robininthelabyrinth meme: Mick as the mob boss, Len as the thief, coldwave, go :)
> 
> Normally, any prompts/memes I receive on [leonardsnartwrites](https://leonardsnartwrites.tumblr.com/) would be posted to the fic collection [Leonard Snart Shorts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10837056/chapters/24054813). If robininthelabyrinth/nirejseki has anything to say about it, though, this whole thing is going to morph into a series, so for organizational purposes, I've decided to post this one as its own story.

The Rorys took over Keystone generations before Leonard was born, leadership passed down through family and blood in the same ways they always did. Lewis had steered clear of them for the sheer fact that his loyalty could be bought. The Santinis and Darbinyans used him when they needed a patsy, when they were too unwilling to risk their own blood on a job that didn’t have a guaranteed payout—easier to lose a dirty cop no one cared about rather than one of their own.

Welcomed into the family or not, though, they held Lewis to the same standards of discretion.

Lewis had never been good at discretion. He ran his mouth too much—even worse when he’d had a few—and when Leonard was eight, the Darbinyans followed through on their threats. They tore him from his mother, gun held to her head as they reminded Lewis what happened when he said too much. Next time, they told him, they’d take his kid too. His mother cried, cursing her husband and pleading for her son’s life in equal turns until they pulled the trigger.

Lewis buried her in a Catholic cemetery like it was a final insult to her, but Leonard—tiny and crying—slipped in a Star of David before they closed the casket and spent the rest of his childhood in terror.

Guns were held to his head in taunting reminders, but his father didn’t falter. The same way his wife’s death hadn’t fazed him, Leonard knew his own would do no different. Not his. Not Lisa’s when she was born. He protected her as much as he could, trading favors and selling his soul until he was old enough to get her away from his father.

He took custody when he was nineteen and his father went to prison again, paying off a social worker to keep her out of an already-crowded foster care system.

Lewis died with a shiv in his gut and no one wept.

They could have taken the chance to go straight, to build themselves into something more than the criminals their father had been molding them into. He got Lisa out, pushing her towards school and skating until she was too busy to think about breaking the law, but he knew he was a lost cause. His mind strayed to crime too easily, fingers twitching until he had someone else’s wallet in his hands and brain breaking down security systems like they were jigsaw puzzles.

Lisa let him go with a sigh and a plea to stay away from the Families, and he did. For years, he made his reputation clear: that Leonard Snart was independent and free of Family control. They ruled the city with fear and his own had morphed into hate when his mother’s blood got sprayed on the wall.

The rumors started when he was closer to thirty than twenty, whispers that the Rorys had gotten their hands on the lost Michelangelo—the fucking _Leda and the Swan_ —that no one had seen since the 1530’s. Not the copy Fiorentino painted, they said, the real one. Brush strokes and tests dating the paint.

Len didn’t sleep for weeks as he planned. He drove out of Central while Lisa was in class, navigating the unfamiliar roads to Keystone so he could make a few passes around the Rory compound. It was farmland once, back before the family traded harvesting for crime, but it got passed through the generations. Modest house was traded out for something more intimidating with Israeli-made security systems that would make his career if he could crack.

He sent Lisa away for a long weekend, grumbling when she insisted on bringing that new boyfriend of hers along. He glared at Cisco until the kid stuttered and reminded himself that it was better if she wasn’t alone. The only high point to the Rorys was their iron-clad rule that they didn’t retaliate against innocents. If he got caught, they’d ice him, but Lisa would be safe and she should have someone with her when the news got handed down.

He broke in on a Saturday night, slipping past guards and hacking his way through a security system that was a bigger piece of art than the Michelangelo. Sweat gathered at his temples as he worked, bottom lip caught between his teeth until he skirted the line of biting through it entirely. The locks popped open, even as the system read them as secure, and he resisted the urge to pat himself on the back.

The painting left him slack-jawed.

He’d seen Michelangelo pieces before. Lisa called him a nerd for Renaissance art, but there was something about it that drew him in. He’d never been able to explain it—didn’t think he’d bother to if he could—but _Leda and the Swan_ was just…

“You planning to kiss the thing or steal it?”

Len went stiff, heart stuttering before it settled on trying to beat its way out of his chest. He knew that voice. Avoiding the Families meant knowing who ran them and he’d seen Mick Rory a handful of times in the past. A glimpse at an event as he slipped through in a waiter’s uniform. A glance across a room.

He’d heard the rumors when the fire happened, how a Santini had set fire to a Rory-owned restaurant in an effort to get Keystone under their control. Mick had already been boss by then, taken over in the wake of his father’s cancer battle, and he’d burned, arms and chest scorched.

Twelve people died that night. _Kids_ died.

Lisa had begged him to pack up when the news broke, scared that a mob war was about to come crashing into Central, and knowing her brother well enough to know that he’d get his dumb ass in the middle of it.

Surprise, Lis, he’d walked into the boss’ damn office.

He turned slowly, hands held out by his sides, and met Rory’s gaze with a controlled calm. “You have it in direct sunlight without any kind of protection,” he drawled. “I’m saving it.”

“After you make out with it?” Rory chuckled, looking entirely too amused for someone that had just caught a thief in his office. “How’d you get past the system? Assholes said it wasn’t hackable.”

Len smirked. “Magic fingers.”

“I bet they are.” His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling and he pushed off from the wall, moving closer. Len stayed still, but his eyes still caught the tell-tale bulge of a gun under his jacket. “Snart, right? You’re the only bastard around here with the rep to do something this insane.”

“I would have left something behind,” Len said innocently as he nodded towards the gear lying at his feet. “There’s a great print of dogs playing poker in there.”

Rory barked out a laugh. “Just a print? I don’t even get a painting?”

“I would have forged something, but I’ve been told my drawings make children cry.”

“Rumors were true,” Rory said as he shook his head. “You’re fucking insane.”

“That mean you’re gonna let me take the Michelangelo?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Rory snorted. “You show me how you cracked the system, though, and I’ll let you walk out of here.”

“That easy?”

“You’re easy on the eyes,” Rory told him simply, “and you’re smart, but there are smarter people out there. If you could get through, so could someone else and I’ve got people I don’t want getting hurt.”

He thought of Lisa and the way she’d hugged him goodbye, like she’d known he needed her out of the city. He hadn’t told her about the job, but she’d known something was going down that he was trying to protect her from. The same way he protected her, Mick had an entire organization to protect and the Rorys always had small armies of children running around.

“It helps if you know Hebrew,” he replied as he nodded his agreement and leaned down to pick up his bag, “some of the underwriting code doesn’t get translated.”

“Leave your stuff. You’ll get the bag back after it’s been searched.” Mick grinned at him. “The dogs are mine.”

The End


End file.
